


Hankies

by Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Birthday Party, Brandy Hall, Family, Gen, Growing Up, Hobbits, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Pre-Quest, The Shire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-14 00:36:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5722996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley/pseuds/Elwen_of_the_hidden_valley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What was Frodo Baggins' life like at Brandy Hall.  Why did Bilbo adopt him and why wait so long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the characters or main events in this tale. They are the property of JRR Tolkien. This is a work of fanfic and I make no monetary gain from it.

HANKIES

 

CHAPTER 1

Esmeralda closed the gate quietly behind her . . . a difficult task for the hinges were sadly in need of oiling . . . but she felt that she had at least to try. There was an air about graveyards that always made her want to be quiet. It was not a need to leave mourners to their thoughts . . . hobbits were not, in general, ones for sitting around in graveyards. It was more a want not to disturb the permanent residents.

As a tweenager Esmeralda had nearly caused a scandal at an aunt’s funeral by developing a fit of the giggles. She had sneezed and her over active imagination had conjured up an image of all the graveyard’s occupants sitting up and shushing her.

The memory of those distant, carefree days teased a small smile from the corners of her mouth. There was no one else around to see so she did not suppress it as she strolled to her favourite spot beneath an ancient oak. Sitting upon a thick root that delved into the rich loam of Buckland beneath the outspread branches, Esmeralda allowed her eyes to roam the small graveyard.

Unlike some communities, the occupants of Brandy Hall did not go in for big funerary monuments . . . a simple stone showing a name, date of birth and date of death marked most graves. Some did not even have this, their occupants only known to remaining relatives and indicated by a shrub or some flowers. Aunt Petunia’s grave was in the far corner, its stone marker only newly erected, now that the ground had finished settling . . . Petunia Longfoot . . . 1291 to 1379. Uncle Longfoot was not buried here of course. He had died three years before his wife and his marker was in a graveyard at Newbury.

The sun slipped behind a passing cloud and Esmeralda glanced up to check the weather. It was a not a long walk back to Brandy Hall but long enough to get thoroughly wet if it decided to rain. She had been so completely absorbed in her own thoughts that she had not considered checking the weather until now and she chided herself. It was with some relief that Esmeralda found that the cloud was the solitary occupant of the impossibly blue sky.

Well . . . perhaps not impossibly blue. Old Aunt Petunia’s eyes had been just that shade of sapphire . . . that turned to the deep purple of woodland bluebells if she got angry . . . which was not often. Esmeralda let her lids drift closed and tried to visualise those eyes, set in a sharp boned face. She leaned her back against the solid trunk of the tree and remembered the feeling of resting against her aunt’s shoulder as a tweener . . . comfortable and loved. How many summers had she spent in Newbury, away from the clatter of Great Smails?

Aunt Petunia had not liked Saradoc when he first came to call on Esmeralda. She had considered him too serious. That was before he had pulled the prank with the pepper and Petunia’s old cat. Cordelia was a cat of very imperious mien. When she decided she was going to “go” in a favourite flowerbed that was what she would do, regardless of how many times she was chased off. 

Saradoc had come courting most weekends for several months and Aunt Petunia believed in making people sing for their supper. She had therefore wasted no time in setting the lad to weeding her rose bed. Esmeralda used to sit by the window, giggling at the epithets that drifted in as Sara stuck his fingers into something rather unsavoury, yet again. 

He had suffered this for at least two months. Then Aunt Petunia had spent a morning wondering about the smial, muttering about a lost pepper pot and Cordelia had shot in through the front door and under the settee in a most un-imperious manner. There she had hidden for the rest of the day, the only indication of her presence the occasional sneeze. She never did use the rose bed as her personal repository again.

Startled out of her memories by the squeak of the gate hinges, Esmeralda looked up to see who else had found her retreat. She was surprised to find it was a child and was so lost in her memories that he was half way across the yard before she realised that it was one of her wards. At first she wondered if he were up to some mischief as the graveyard abutted a small orchard. There were no apples this early in the year but the trees had been under-planted with strawberries and some of the early fruits were just starting to ripen. Something about the lad’s manner made her wait before challenging him, however.

Frodo closed the gate carefully and glanced about before walking slowly to a mound, near Esmeralda’s hiding place. In common with most hobbits Esmeralda could make herself nearly invisible if need be and the youngster did not notice her. In his hands he carried a bunch of wild spring flowers, some of them already drooping and obviously gathered on the way here from the Hall.

His face was downcast so that all she could see was alabaster skin and thick shiny curls the colour of roasted chestnuts. Esmeralda could not remember any of the Brandybuck clan having hair that dark, nor could she remember seeing any hobbit as slender as this child. There was hardly any meat on him, and that, combined with his pallor, made her wonder when he had first come to the Hall with his parents, whether he was ill. Yet there was nothing in his movements to suggest illness . . . in fact he moved with a lithe grace unusual in one so young.

 

Folding to his knees before a mound of recently excavated earth, not yet fully grassed over, Frodo laid down the flowers, tenderly. Esmeralda heard him sniff lightly and watched him wipe his shirtsleeve across his eyes and then her heart lurched as, with no warning beyond a soft sob, he threw himself face down to hug the healing ground. His guardian sat still, wondering what to do . . . whether to stay quiet or to try and comfort him. He obviously believed himself to be alone and Esmeralda did not want to startle him. And yet everything within her screamed to gather those tiny shuddering shoulders into her arms and console the child . . . so raw was his hurt.

In the end it was her own pain that made the choice, rooting her to the ground. Esmeralda found her grief rising up in answer to his and had to swallow hard and clench her hands, to force down the hurt that lay just beneath the surface of her outward calm. 

As she bound it up and locked it away Esmeralda watched Frodo do the same . . . lifting himself to hands and knees and wiping his face on his sleeve once more. Then he leaned back on his heels and brushed ineffectually at the mud on the front of his shirt and breeches, sniffling all the while. It was the sniffling that finally brought a response from Esmeralda’s body and she fished about in her skirt pocket for her clean handkerchief. Moving forward on hands and knees, she sat a little way behind him and leaned in to offer the hanky.

“Here,” she whispered softly. “Your Mama surely told you not to wipe your nose on your sleeve.”

He gasped and turned around, and Esmeralda’s heart forgot how to beat.

Bluebells. She had never noticed before, but his huge eyes were the colour of bluebells when he was sad.

“Oh . . . I’m sorry, Aunt Esmeralda.” 

He had made no move to accept the hanky and Esmeralda opened it and wiped his small red nose for him.

“It’s all right, Frodo. I’m not cross with you.” She moved on to dab at his cheeks. 

He made no attempt to pull away from her ministrations, rather tilted his face up so that she could work more easily . . . welcoming her attentions. This was a new role for Esmeralda. She had been farmed out to her aunt and uncle at an early age, only returning to Great Smials for festival days and the occasional visit. So she had never been pressed into caring for young ones.

Somehow, when she and Saradoc had married and returned to Brandy Hall she had been too busy making a little home for them that she had no time left to socialise. Then Aunt Petunia had become ill and she had been sent for. 

While she was away Primula and Drogo had drowned . . . goodness knows how . . . and Rorymac had decreed that Esmeralda and Saradoc become Frodo’s guardians. Esmeralda could hardly refuse, although she had little experience with children. As the wife of the future Master of Buckland, however, such things were expected of her.

Esmeralda had been so wrapped up in her own grief at losing the aunt who had done so much to raise her, that she had paid scant attention to Frodo. And now she felt guilty as she realised that he had also lost those dearest to him. Looking into those impossibly blue eyes she found her heart aching with understanding.

It was obvious that he was hurting very deeply and of all the people in Brandy Hall, Esmeralda should have been the one who could sympathise with that. But she had been so wrapped up in her own pain that she had not even considered his. How much more bitter and frightening must his parent’s death have been to Frodo? In addition, he had the rumours to fight. Oh . . . he was a child but he must have heard them.

As no one had witnessed the deaths of Drogo and Primula there had been some rather unsavoury rumours going about regarding the reason for their boat capsizing. Most sensible people paid the stories no heed but there were always those who thrived on such gossip and children, in particular, could be very cruel. He could not be unaware of their words.

Esmeralda smiled as she finished wiping his face and tucked the hanky back in her pocket. She held out her hand and the little waif slipped an ink stained and slightly grubby hand shyly into hers. “Come on. Let’s go home.” Esmeralda hugged him briefly.

He stiffened and his guardian got the briefest of impressions that he was afraid to surrender to the touch. Esmeralda would have considered the matter further but a breeze stirred Frodo’s glossy curls and a shadow chased across the grass. Looking up they found that the single cloud had brought company and the blue sky was rapidly turning grey. Esmeralda scrambled up, dusting off her skirts and Frodo followed suit . . . although his dusting made scant impact on his clothing. Esmeralda held out her hand again. “We had better head back to the Hall before we get wet. I think it’s going to rain.”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then the small hand slipped into hers once more and Esmeralda smiled down as she led him to the gate. 

The walk back to Brandy Hall was made largely in silence and Esmeralda did not press the child. Once or twice she looked down to find him looking up at her. She smiled and he returned it shyly. What she saw in his eyes was not happiness though, but sadness and just the slightest hint of something else. It took her a long time to place it and when she did she was surprised.

Hope? 

They were still some distance from Brandy Hall when the rain started; a heavy summer storm that had them both soaked to the skin within minutes. As soon as they got indoors Esmeralda shooed Frodo off to change and ran to her own room to do likewise, earning several tuts from Brandybuck matriarchs on the way. 

Once behind her door, Esmeralda let her fears loose. Could she be a mother to this child? Should she be? Or was it her role only to be a guardian . . . someone who kept a distance? It was clear Frodo wanted a mother figure but was Esmeralda capable of filling that role?

She decided to discuss it with Saradoc when he returned from the dairy.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Part of this chapter owes its genesis to a role-play with FrodoBagginsOfBagEnd. Thank you for the inspiration Febobe.

 

As spring melted into summer Esmeralda found her place in Brandy Hall changing. 

She discovered that she had a dormant skill quite by accident in a week of very wet and dreary spring weather, when she had found a group of listless and bored children sitting in the library. Within half an hour she was ensconced in a chair by the fire, surrounded by a little huddle of wide-eyed faces as she related family stories. Frodo had been among those in the room but Esmeralda noticed that he remained in a window seat, keeping his eyes upon the river, flowing swiftly in the distance, brown with mud and swollen by the rain. In truth she had thought at first that he was not listening, but then he had smiled as she recounted the adventures of a toothless great, great auntie and she realised that he was actually as bound up in the story as the others.

Over the months that followed Esmeralda watched her ward more closely. To be sure, he joined in games with the other children when invited, but he was more often to be found sitting with a book in the window seat of the library or under a tree. She had even heard him laughing once or twice, a beautiful infectious giggle that made anyone within earshot unable to resist joining in. Sadly, it was rarely heard although that slow shy smile, deep blue eyes looking up through dark lashes, was often directed at Esmeralda and it warmed her to the core.

Mostly Esmeralda would find him sitting before his parent’s graves and when she did she would make a point of stealing off to another corner of the cemetery to give him privacy for his grief. Sometimes she would look up and meet those wide deep blue eyes and then would have to turn away or her own grief at the loss of a loved one would rise up to drown her as surely as the Brandywine had swallowed his.

Officially, Esmeralda and Saradoc looked after Frodo but in fact he more or less looked after himself. The fostering of children in a Hall such as this was not the same as in a small smial. There were several such children, either from broken families, like Frodo, or simply from families who wanted their children to experience the world outside their own smial. To be fostered at Brandy Hall was considered quite an honour by those living along the banks of the Brandywine for it came with good food and a formal education. 

Esmeralda could not help but feel differently about Frodo Baggins, however. She found herself drawn to seek him out but, so quiet and unassuming was he, that even Esmeralda would find there were times when she could not remember seeing him for hours and would seek him out. And so it was that she left the dining hall one evening, having not seen him at a meal all day. She discovered him in the first place she looked . . . the library.

Although the sun was low in the sky it was still a long way from setting this summer evening and, in the window seat, Frodo’s form was just a dark shape against its brightness, the outlines of his small body lost in the copper brilliance. Even so, Esmeralda could see that he was curled in upon himself. His legs were drawn up and his hands clasped about his ankles. The head of dark curls rested upon his knees, and as she stepped closer Esmeralda could see that his eyes were closed.

Wiping her hands upon her apron she sat down on the seat beside him and the brushing of her skirt against his foot made the small head jerk upward. Esmeralda was surprised to see tears in his eyes and she reached out a hand to brush back his curls in concern. His forehead was a little warm, although not alarmingly so. As always, when someone touched him, Frodo did not pull away, rather leaned into the touch as though hungry for contact. Esmeralda smiled gently at him and brought her hand to rest upon his at his softly furred feet.

“I was worried when I didn’t see you at table. Had you forgotten that it was dinner time?”

Frodo swallowed and turned his face away, staring at the river rolling silver in the distance. “I’m not feeling very hungry, Auntie.”

Esmeralda tucked her finger under a chin not yet squared into adolescence and turned his face back to her, looking intently into his eyes. They were a deep shade of bluebell in this light and her heart melted once more.

“It’s not like a growing hobbit lad to go without a meal . . . and unless my memory is deceiving me you weren’t at the table for any of the other meals today either.” Esmeralda tucked a stray curl behind his ear. “Why don’t you feel hungry?”

“Tummy ache.” The small chin quivered and tears began to spill in earnest down his slightly flushed cheeks.

Esmeralda held out her arms to him, any intentions to be only a guardian swept away in that moment. “Come here,” she murmured and he practically threw himself into her lap, sobbing loudly upon her shoulder as she held him close.

One hand grabbed a fistful of her apron and the other arm wrapped itself about her waist, clinging with all his strength. Esmeralda found it hard to hold back her own tears as she rocked him gently, kissing the crown of his head. 

When had been the last time someone had held him like this? Esmeralda could not remember ever having seeing any of the other adults charged with caring for the Hall’s fosterlings hug him, and she chided herself for not daring to offer him this simple comfort before. Sometimes her husband patted him on the head as he passed and even this small sign of affection had brought a smile to the lad’s face, but she could not ever remember seeing anyone cuddle him as other children were. Frodo Baggins seemed to hold himself apart . . . perhaps fearful of committing himself to another relationship that could be cruelly shattered by fate. 

Under her gentle ministration the sobs subsided into hitches and then sniffles and Esmeralda handed him one of her handkerchiefs. The lad blew his nose loudly and then looked up at her apologetically. 

She smiled. “That’s alright. I have another one.”

He snuggled against her, curling up at her side clutching the damp handkerchief, and she simply held him, trying to decide what to do next. His face looked very flushed now but it was difficult to tell whether it was from fever or crying.

“Does your tummy still hurt?”

The small head moved against her shoulder and a trembling voice replied, “A bit. Not as much as before.”

“Do you think you would like some dinner now? Or does it still hurt too much?”

Esmeralda felt his arm grip more tightly and Frodo curled closely. “Are there lots of people in the dining hall?”

Bending to kiss his soft curls again Esmeralda replied, “About the usual number. All your young friends are there.” His hair smelled of sunshine. “There’s apple pie for pudding.”

The dark head tilted back to look up at her, face hopeful. “I’d like to try some apple pie but . . . I’m not sure I want to go into the hall. What if I get sick?” 

His hand tightened in the waistband of her apron and Esmeralda made a mental note to press it later. She had discovered many things over the last summer and one of them was that tummy aches, whilst feeling real to a youngster, were often as much a symptom of emotional hurt as physical. A little ginger tea would not do the lad any harm, however.

“All right then, Frodo. How about my fetching you some ginger tea to help with that tummy upset before you try any apple pie?”

“I think I’d like to try some apple pie. Will there be honey in the tea?”

“I know where to find the best honey in the Hall.” Esmeralda coaxed him into the corner of the seat again, wrapping her shawl about him. He pulled it close at once, bending to sniff, and smiled.

“You smell of sweet peas. Mamma used to smell of lavender.”

Fancy a young lad noticing that, Esmeralda thought as she bent forward and kissed his brow.


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Still curled in a tight bundle inside Esmeralda’s shawl, Frodo glanced up anxiously when she returned, small bowl of apple pie and custard in her hand. A smile lit up his face as soon as he recognised her and when she held out her hand he gathered the shawl about his shoulders and clambered down readily to join her, his smaller hand fitting neatly into hers. His smile broadened when Esmeralda told him they would be heading for the peace of her own rooms.

Once there, Esmeralda settled him in a chair at the table and turned to the little kitchen, setting the kettle to boil for tea. When she returned she found Frodo looking about the room interestedly. A pang of guilt hit her as she realised that she and Saradoc had not invited him here more than a couple of times since Drogo’s death and only then in the company of other fosterlings.

Frodo’s large blue eyes slid up to meet hers and Esmeralda tore herself away from his face to return to the kitchen. There she tied some ginger shavings in a muslin square and popped it in a cup, adding hot water from the kettle. While she waited for it to steep she considered again why Frodo Baggins had been fostered at the Hall. There should have been someone closer who could have taken him in and given the lad the individual attention he needed. For the umpteenth time in the past few months she considered the Baggins family.

The Sackville Baggins’ she dismissed as guardians at once. Even were it not for the fact that they had a child of their own, Esmeralda had heard enough about the family to know that Frodo would be better off at Brandy Hall than with that pair; even assuming that they could be persuaded to take him on. There was Odo Proudfoot, but he was a rather crude and self-opinionated man whose wife was a real mouse. Frodo would be miserable there.

Falco Chubb Baggins was too ill. The poor hobbit seemed to stagger from one illness to another and the last thing he and his wife needed was a youngster to look after. Posco and Gilly Brownlock were a gentle pair but as poor as could be. Unless the Brandybuck family made some settlement on them they would not have the wherewithal to feed Frodo. There had been some family disagreement, lost in the mists of time, which had meant that such a settlement was highly unlikely however. Dudo Baggins was in the same situation. 

Esmeralda sighed as she fished out the muslin bag and spooned honey into the ginger tea. The Baggins family seemed to have more than its share of oddbods. She carried the cup to the table, placing a mat and saucer upon the carefully polished wood and setting it before the child.

“There now. You get this down and then we’ll see how your tummy feels about that apple pie.”

Frodo picked up the delicate green cup and took a sip, smiling when he got the first mouthful and swallowing gratefully. “You’ve put honey in it. Thank you. Auntie Marina never puts honey in it.” 

Esmeralda ruffled his curls and returned the smile, before turning back to the kitchen to make herself a cup of mint tea. It seemed that she would just have to develop the knack of caring for children. She felt woefully inadequate and wished she had the experience of children of her own. But there had been no sign of that yet between her and Saradoc. She swallowed a smile. It had not been for the want of opportunity.

Esmeralda pushed her thoughts away from such pleasantries and back to Frodo’s relations. There were only two others . . . Dora and Bilbo. Dora’s parents had left her comfortably off but she had never married, having a somewhat vinegary temperament. She would be torment. Oh, the lad would be clean and well fed, with the best of education, but every moment of every day would be planned for him. Such a sensitive lad would be totally stifled, assuming that Dora had even been considered. It was not thought proper for a maiden aunt to bring up a child, particularly a lad. That left one other option . . . Bilbo Baggins.

Esmeralda brought her cup to the table and sat in the chair next to Frodo, who was sipping his tea absently and staring out of the window. He always seemed to be looking towards the horizon, as though wandering what was beyond, or perhaps searching for an escape. A dreamer or an adventurer . . . rather like Bilbo. 

Under other circumstances Bilbo could have been an ideal solution for Frodo but he had rather blotted his copybook by running off with dwarves and wizards and meeting elves and the like. In fact, not only had he done so, but he had not even the common sense to keep quiet about it upon his return. The fellow was notorious for regaling all and sundry with the tales of his adventuring. Bilbo would definitely not be approved of, although Esmeralda could not resist the sneaking feeling that Frodo would enjoy hearing those tales of far off lands, and it was rumoured that Bilbo Baggins kept an excellent library.

Frodo set down his empty cup and peeped at the little bowl across the table, his blue eyes showing a definite interest in the contents. Esmeralda pushed it towards him.

“Don’t you go spilling custard on my table now,” she warned with a wink. “We brought it all the way from Great Smails.” She was rewarded with a genuine gap-toothed smile that would have put the brightest summer day to shame and she blinked in its dazzle and glanced down into her cup.

“I won’t, Auntie Esme.” He tucked in with no hesitation, all thoughts of tummy upsets gone. “Why did you bring the table all that way,” Frodo asked with a child’s curiosity. 

The sun was dipping and Esmeralda rose to light the oil lamp with a taper from the fire, closing the window against any curious moths it would invite. “That’s where I used to live before I married your Uncle Saradoc. My grandmother gave us the table as a wedding present.” Returning to her seat she watched him, all his attention now upon the food . . . a normal hobbit lad at last. 

Curiosity easily satisfied Frodo said, “Oh.” Only when the last drop of custard was scraped up and the spoon licked clean did he sit back with a satisfied sigh and look up at her.

“Feeling a bit better now, Frodo?”

“Much better, thank you, Auntie.”

“It’s not far off your bedtime,” she observed, glancing towards the mantle clock. Catching him in a grimace, she smiled. 

“Oh? I had not noticed.” The words came out in a rush and brought a high flush to his cheeks. 

This lad was obviously not used to telling untruths but Esmeralda decided to let him get away with it, just this once. He had not had a good day and she knew there was no schooling scheduled for the youngsters tomorrow so he could sleep late if he needed to. Besides, she found she quite liked having him here. 

Frodo latched on to something to say to distract his Aunt’s attention from the clock. “I like your brooch. Is it an oak leaf?”

Esmeralda lifted her hand to her breast. “Yes, it is. It’s a silver oak leaf.”

“You always wear it. Was it a present?”

“What makes you think that?” 

“Mamma had a little gold pin with a green sparkly stone that she always wore because she said Papa gave it to her. Did someone give the brooch to you?”

Esmeralda sighed. There were not many lads who would notice such a small thing and his large blue eyes invited confidences. She unpinned and laid the small broach upon the dark wood of the table between them.

“It was given to me by my Aunt Petunia.”

Frodo reached out an ink-stained finger and stroked the tiny silver leaf tentatively, as though afraid it would crumble if he pressed too hard. “She’s the lady buried in the yard, isn’t she? I looked at the stone.”

Esmeralda swallowed and tried to keep her voice even. “Aunt Petunia was like a mother to me. I miss talking to her very much.”

The small hand moved from the broach to slip beneath hers upon the table. “I’m sorry, Auntie Esmeralda. Was she very old?”

Wrapping her fingers lightly about his, Esmeralda smiled. “She was quite old and I suppose that should make it hurt less. But it doesn’t.”

Esmeralda sniffed and brushed away a tear that threatened to spill down her cheek. Suddenly Frodo was scrambling into her lap and surprisingly strong arms wrapped themselves about her neck, this time offering her the comfort. Thick soft curls nestled against her cheek and a soft voice whispered in her ear . . . 

“I’m so sorry, Auntie. You must be sad too.” There was a pause and then . . . “It would have been my Mama’s birthday today.”

There were no tears, and Esmeralda wrapped her arms about Frodo, breathing in the sunshine smell of the boy, finding that her own tears had dried too. In their embrace was the comfort of a pain understood, shared and accepted.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

“Auntie Esme! Auntie Esme!” Esmeralda spun around in alarm upon hearing the excited voice shouting down the hallway behind her.

Frodo was racing towards her, waving a piece of paper in the air, eyes shining and a broad grin on his face. When he reached her, Frodo grabbed her hand and jumped up and down, thrusting the paper so close under her nose and still waving it so wildly that his Aunt had little chance of focussing upon it. 

Esmeralda could only laugh. “What ever is it, Frodo? Stop bobbing about like a Jack-in-a-box and tell me what’s happened.”

The young lad restrained himself from jumping but then started shuffling from one hairy foot to the other, unable to contain his excitement, and his voice was so loud that Esmeralda would swear that he could be heard clear across the other side of the Shire in Michael Delving.

“Uncle Bilbo is coming for my birthday! He’s coming for a whole week . . . he says we can have a joint party . . . we share the same birthday . . . and I can invite whoever I like . . . and there will be lots to eat . . . and a cake . . . and games . . . and he will take me to the market to get presents for everyone . . .”

By the time he reached the end of his disjointed speech Frodo was jumping up and down again, taking both Esmeralda’s hands in his and dancing around, spinning her in a circle. The older hobbit loosed his grasp to pull him to her in a hug before she became too dizzy. In response wiry arms wrapped themselves strongly about her waist and the sparkling blue eyes beamed up at her.

Still laughing in response, Esmeralda squeezed him. “That certainly sounds like a party to look forward to.”

“Oh yes! Uncle Bilbo throws the best parties in the Shire . . . and he’s going to hold it here and share it with me! There will be lots of food and he says he will bring toys for all my friends . . .toys from Dale! Dale! That’s outside the Shire . . . from ever so far away! Even past the Old Forrest.”

Esmeralda looked suitably impressed. Bucklanders had more contact with outsiders than most hobbits, being on the edge of the Shire as they were but, it was still quite an event to have large amounts of outland things arrive all at once in the same place. People would be talking about the event for years to come. But then, Bilbo Baggins was not one to keep a low profile and seemed blissfully uncaring of the whispers and stares.

It had taken a great deal of wheedling on Esmeralda’s part to get Saradoc to suggest the idea to Bilbo. And now that it looked like it was actually going to happen she was not so sure whether this event would be good or bad for Frodo. Most people nowadays chose to forget that the lad was a relative of the notorious adventurer and drawing attention to the fact could cause his cousin and nephew some problems with his peers. On the other hand, she had never seen Frodo so animated and happy as when he received a letter from his Uncle Bilbo, and anyone who could bring about such a change in the serious child could not be all bad. Could he?

“Oh my. That does sound exciting. Have you told Uncle Saradoc?”

“Yes, yes, and he says it will be allowed. Auntie Marina is visiting a friend that week so she won’t be able to organise my party and was going to ask someone else to do it. So it will be perfect. Isn’t it wonderful? Uncle Bilbo coming here . . . I haven’t seen him since . . .” Blue eyes lost some of their sparkle and the voice lowered. “I haven’t seen him since the funeral . . . and he was so nice to me then. He let me sit by him afterwards and held me and gave me his hanky.” Frodo fished from his pocket a large, clean and folded red hanky . . . obviously a treasured possession. 

Bilbo Baggins went up several notches in Esmeralda’s esteem. There was obviously more to the lad’s Uncle than adventuring and it was also apparent to her that Frodo adored him. 

“I hope you will be sending me an invitation to this bun feast.” 

“Oh yes, Auntie Esme. Uncle Bilbo asked me to start making a list of people I wanted to invite and I’ve got you at the very top of my list.”

Esmeralda’s heart leapt at the simple confession. That he had thought of her first when inviting friends was a sign of affection that she could not remember ever having been lavished upon her before by a child. 

She brushed back the dark curls from his brow. “I shall be honoured to attend.”

Frodo’s grin widened and he stepped back, his mouth suddenly dropping open in alarm. “Oh . . . I have to tell Freddy!” With that he spun away and raced down the hall, almost bowling over one of the older occupants of Brandy Hall and pausing only to yell an apology to him as he rounded a corner.

000

The party turned out to be all that was promised, and more. Esmeralda was among the many, young and old, that filled the great dining room of Brandy Hall and her ears rang with the excited shrieks of children opening gaily-wrapped parcels. Bilbo had brought many little gifts for his nephew to hand over to his peers and Frodo and his uncle had spent the best part of one whole day deciding what to give to who, wrapping and labelling them carefully. Esmeralda smiled as she watched all their painstaking effort ripped away excitedly by small eager fingers, the shreds of paper beginning to form drifts upon the floor like autumn leaves in a gale.

The din was made worse by the fact that some of those parcels contained toy drums and flutes, rattles and whistles, and some of the more elderly members of the Hall had already retired to another room to consume some of the very good wine that Bilbo had provided. Now there was only Bilbo and Esmeralda and few of the mothers of the noisy swirl of children, keeping an eye on their charges from the fringes of the melee.

Esmeralda was pleased to see that Bilbo had not joined his peers but elected to stay with his nephew, although he now held a glass of wine, thoughtfully sent in by those in the other room. Esmeralda frowned as she watched Frodo ask his uncle for a sip and Bilbo comply, but her smile echoed Bilbo’s chuckle as he watched the lad’s face screw up in distaste as he swallowed quickly. At least now Frodo would not be tempted to go away and try it on his own.

Joining some of the other ladies, Esmeralda began to clear away the empty plates and cups, so that the children would be able to run around without doing too much damage, now that the important business of eating was out of the way. She smiled as she watched Hilda remove the platter that had contained the huge birthday cake. There was not a crumb left of the gigantic white and yellow confection and Esmeralda knelt to collect the stubs of the many candles that had graced it, from where they rolled about beneath the table.

As she paused to rearrange one of her combs, to fasten her hair out of her eyes, Esmeralda found herself face to face with the young Master of the Feast. His eyes shone, a wide grin splitting his pink flushed face, and she found that her own visage moved immediately to mirror that expression, so contagious was it.

“Happy birthday, Frodo, and many more of them.”

Frodo giggled, a light and happy sound that shook his shoulders and sent his curls bobbing. 

“Thank you, Auntie Esme.” 

He reached out a hand and grabbed hers, knocking the candle stubs back onto the floor and laughing all the louder at Esmeralda’s exasperated sigh, as they rolled away in random directions. He tugged at her hand.

“Come on Auntie. I haven’t given you your present yet.”

Esmeralda blinked in surprise. Bilbo had given presents to all the grown ups who had attended (and some who had been too elderly to attend such a rowdy affair). Esme had been the recipient of a rather over decorated parasol. Frodo had dealt with the handing out of presents to his young friends but the small hand holding hers tugged insistently now.

“You’ll have to come with me . . . I didn’t have time to wrap it because Bilbo only took me to the market yesterday . . . and I didn’t want you to see it until I was ready.” Each phrase was punctuated with a tug and Esmeralda eventually acquiesced and allowed herself to be led from the din and through the warren that was Brandy Hall, to Frodo’s little nest.

His room had no window so an oil lamp sat upon a table by the wall. The bed was small and obviously hastily made by its owner, the covers a little rumpled and the pillows not fluffed properly. A row of tatty books graced a rickety shelf in one corner and a cut down wine barrel beneath the bed held an assortment of toys, some of which had fallen out and now lay forlornly upon the faded rug, ready to trip up any unwary passer by.

A little washstand contained a bowl and jug decorated with pale pink roses. The pattern looked a little incongruous in a child’s room, but then so did the carved pipe, hung on a piece of red wool from a nail on the wall by his bed.

In the corner stood a large wardrobe, some of its contents spilling onto the floor and draped over the half open door. Atop it was balanced an assortment of boxes obviously used for storage and another pile of books, their covers in even worse states than those on the shelf. Esmeralda suspected that the lad was a frequent spender at the second hand bookstall in the market and made a mental note to search the glory holes in the lower levels of the Hall for a bookcase.

Frodo led her to sit upon the bed and Esmeralda began to absently plump up his pillows as she watched him drag the room’s only rickety chair to the wardrobe. She winced as he clambered up on the seat.

“Frodo . . . is that safe to stand on? Do be careful.”

The chair creaked alarmingly as the lad reached up to feel on the top of the wardrobe and Esmeralda began to put out a hand to steady him . . . but he was out of reach.

“Oh yes, Auntie. Don’t worry. I always stand on this chair to reach the wardrobe top. I used it only yesterday to put your present out of sight. I didn’t want to lose it.” 

Esmeralda allowed herself a wry smile as she surveyed the room. She could see how easy it would be to lose something in the clutter of this room. He patted around and then let out a pleased exclamation as his fingers closed around a small bag. He spun round in delight, holding it in the air triumphantly and then shrieked in alarm, windmilling his arms frantically as he lost his balance. 

The chair, whose joints had been protesting to start with, finally gave out at the sudden movement. With a loud groan the much-abused piece of furniture seemed to fold in upon itself, throwing its occupant off and for a moment Esmeralda could only stare, opened mouthed, at the heap of limbs . . . wooden and flesh that lay entangled upon the floor. It was the sight of a growing purple stain on the faded blue of the rug that eventually brought Esmeralda back to herself and she rushed to try and make sense of the mess. She was not even aware that she had shouted for help until the door flew open and several of the household ran into the room behind her, as she knelt on the floor at Frodo’s side.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

Esmeralda surveyed the confused muddle before her. Frodo was lying upon his side, his limbs entangled amongst the wreckage of the chair. His eyes were closed and his face was pale beneath its summer tan, all sign of the blush of a few minutes ago now fled from his high cheeks. It was with some relief that she saw the small chest moving up and down and she began to hurriedly assess what damage had been done.

Suddenly other hands, large and rough, began to scoop Frodo up and Esmeralda reached out in alarm to catch Saradoc’s wrists. “No! Stop!”

Her husband met her eyes, about to protest, but he stopped when he saw the calm certainty in Esmeralda’s face. She let go his hands and he drew them back, resting them on his thighs as he awaited his wife’s instruction. Esmeralda tried to smile reassuringly.

“We must be careful about moving him. If anything’s broken we could cause more harm if we don’t move him correctly.”

She had done enough helping with the tending of sick children over the past few months to know what to do while waiting for the doctor, and she began to run her hands over his limbs and torso; searching for potential breaks and trying to determine where the growing pool of blood was coming from.

As she worked her mind processed the various bits of information being picked up by her ears. The doctor had been sent for . . . apparently he was somewhere in the Hall already, treating one of the older residents for gout. And someone had been dispatched to advise Bilbo and Rorymac.

It did not take her long to establish that Frodo had probably sprained or broken his left ankle, definitely broken his left arm, trapped beneath him when he fell, and that the blood came from a bad gash on his left calf and a small cut on his head. Esmeralda sighed with relief. They were serious, to be sure, but only the head wound could be considered dangerous and Esmeralda could find no trace of any depression in the bones of his skull around it. She listed the injuries out loud to Saradoc and then the two of them began to disentangle Frodo from the splintered wood of the chair.

By the time the doctor bustled in they had Frodo upon his bed, with a folded towel beneath his head and another wrapped about his leg, the limb supported on several pillows willingly supplied by the occupants of nearby rooms; most of whom were now clustered about the door, so that Bilbo had to push and elbow his way into the room behind the physician.

Esmeralda was quite gratified when the doctor concurred with her findings, declaring the ankle to be badly sprained and, upon checking Frodo’s eyes, that he did not believe that there was any fracture to the skull. Both knew however, that it was still a possibility and the sooner Frodo regained consciousness the better were his chances that there was no damage.

Saradoc, meanwhile, ushered everyone back to their daily business and Bilbo took up station at the foot of the bed . . . fidgeting but trying to stay out of the way whilst Esmeralda and Dr Dunhill undressed Frodo and tended his various injuries. Frodo remained unaware throughout and all within the room were, to some extent, relieved. The setting of bones was a painful procedure, as was the cleaning and suturing of cuts and the doctor had to probe deeply to remove several large splinters that had become embedded in the leg wound. Esmeralda sighed as they drew the covers up over Frodo at last. They were not out of the woods. The lad would be in a great deal of pain when he awoke and there would likely be a fever too.

Esmeralda’s husband returned as they were finishing, wordlessly removing the splintered chair and stained rug and returning with two sturdy new chairs. Esmeralda immediately set one by the bedside and led Bilbo to sit in it, for he looked almost as pale as his cousin and Frodo would likely want to see him when he awoke. Dr Dunhill left several bottles of medicine and a jar of salve, giving Esmeralda instructions on their use and left as quickly as he had arrived, apparently eager to reach home before dark.

Esmeralda moved quietly about the room for a while, setting it to rights and when she came back to the bedside it was to find Bilbo holding Frodo’s right hand, stroking its back absently with his thumb. There was definitely more to Bilbo Baggins than the rumours told.

“I need to arrange for some supplies. Can you cope if I leave you for a few minutes?” Esmeralda asked. “There will be someone outside the door if you need me.”

Bilbo met her gaze, blinking his way out of reverie. “Yes, of course. Please do whatever you need to for the lad. I’ll send for you if he awakens,” he replied.

Esmeralda nodded, wiping her hands upon her apron and quickly re-arranging the combs in her hair. In all the activity several of them had managed to worry themselves loose again. As she reached the door Bilbo’s voice came again.

“Thank you, Esmeralda. Frodo said that you were very dear to him and now I can see why.”

Esmeralda blushed and turned back to the hobbit that many called “Mad Baggins”. “And in the past few days I have come to see why you are very dear to him too.” She left to issue instructions for the things they would need.

000

By the time Frodo was stirring, some hours later, his room had been transformed. Clothes and toys had been tidied away, a cheery fire flickered in the grate and a kettle steamed gently over it. A narrow but long table had replaced the small one holding the oil lamp and arranged upon it were all the things needed to tend the sick child . . . medicines, fresh bandages, bowls and cloths and a pile of fresh linens. Bilbo sat in a chair at one side of Frodo’s bed and Esmeralda sat at the other.

Thick dark lashes fluttered and then cracked slowly open to reveal dazed eyes. For a moment Frodo fought to focus but when his gaze finally settled it was upon Bilbo’s smiling face.

“Hello, my lad. How are you feeling?”

Frodo blinked in confusion and tried to move. Bilbo caught him at once as a sharp cry escaped the child’s lips. Frodo began to wail as all his hurts made themselves apparent at once, and Bilbo glanced helplessly across the bed at Esmeralda. At once she shook one of the bottles the doctor had left and poured a little dark syrup into a spoon.

Bilbo stroked Frodo’s face, trying with little success, to brush away the tears, which flowed freely down his nephew’s flushed cheeks. “Hush now, Frodo lad. Your Auntie Esme has some medicine for you that will make the pain go away. Come on now.”

As he spoke, Bilbo slipped a hand beneath Frodo’s pillow to raise his head a little. Unfortunately, the movement of his injured head brought a fresh cry and Bilbo nearly dropped him in alarm. His words seemed to have some effect however and Frodo curled towards him as best he could, the wails becoming quieter, although no less heart rending to the two tending him.

Esmeralda leaned closer and slipped the spoon into Frodo’s mouth and the lad swallowed, too distraught to protest any unpleasant taste.

Once he was lying flat again Esmeralda brought a damp cloth and began to blot gently at his feverish and tear swollen face and Bilbo caught up the lads hand once more, wincing a little as Frodo squeezed hard in his pain. Only one word was repeated in between the wails . . . 

“Bilbo.”

Over a period of several long minutes the wails faded to whimpers and then died down to deep sobs and Frodo’s fretful movements stilled as the medicine and the attentions of his carers, calmed and soothed him. The doctor had warned Esmeralda not to give Frodo the medicine too often because it was quite a strong sedative but with the level of pain and shock that Frodo was experiencing it was the only way to ease him.

Frodo’s tears slowed and finally stopped and Esmeralda laid aside her cloth, watching the fever bright eyes become slightly unfocussed as the medicine took a firm hold on the small body. Suddenly Frodo swallowed and his face paled as he turned his head to his Auntie and whimpered. Esmeralda recognised the warning signs at once and grabbed a bowl; her action registering upon Bilbo, who raised Frodo and supported him while Esmeralda swung the bowl just below the lad’s chin. Not a moment too soon.

Bilbo held his nephew’s forehead and supported him against his side as Esmeralda rubbed his sweat slicked back and held the bowl. Frodo had consumed a lot of food at his party and his over-stressed body could no longer cope with trying to digest it. Esmeralda and Bilbo could only look on and support him as best they could as he retched over and over, the action in itself redoubling the pain in his damaged body and Frodo’s tears returned. Slowly, the retching became dry heaves and then sobs as the boy sagged bonelessly against his Uncle, not even having the strength to swill and spit out the sip of water Esmeralda offered. It trickled from his lips and Esmeralda wiped it away gently with a damp cloth.

They settled him down again, arranging pillows to support his arm and leg and straightening the sheets and quilts. He should really have his perspiration sponged away but Esmeralda decided to leave him for a little while, not wanting to cause him any more pain, now that he did not have the full dose of sedative in him. She dare not give him any more for several hours for she did not know how much of the original dose he had digested and could only hope that he had taken in enough. It was with some relief that Esmeralda saw the blue eyes flutter closed once more and Frodo’s breathing settle, although even in his sleep the occasional soft hitch of a sob could be heard.

She sighed as she collected and covered the basin and left the room to empty it. It seemed life was destined to be painful for this lad.


	6. Chapter 6

The rest of that day and the night, which followed it, was one of the worst times that Esmeralda could remember in her life. She had nursed her aunt at the end but to see a young child in such pain was almost more than she could bear. Even tending other children through minor illnesses and the occasional broken bone over the past few months could not prepare her for the pain that coiled itself about her own heart every time Frodo caught his breath or cracked open fever glazed eyes.

Several of the older ladies of the Hall had offered to relieve her of Frodo’s care and Esmeralda would have been willing to bow to their greater experience; but even in his sleep Frodo seemed to know exactly who he wanted with him. If Saradoc persuaded her back to their rooms or Bilbo left for any length of time the lad would become fretful and they would have to be sent for, and so it was that Bilbo and Esmeralda remained Frodo’s carers. 

For the first few hours their time was taken up wholly with watching and caring for him. There were bandages to change and they sponged him down as his fever rose. Esmeralda fed him sips of ginger tea when he was conscious enough to swallow, in hopes that it would both settle his stomach and bring down his temperature. It seemed to have the desired effect and after each cupful that they managed to coax into him he would settle down to sleep again for a while. Esmeralda was grateful for it was well into the small hours before she dare administer any more of the sedative, but within minutes of her doing so he sank down into a sound and untroubled sleep and within a few hours of that his fever broke.

At midnight Saradoc and Hilda arrived with supplies for the weary watchers. Hilda had stood many such vigils with her own brood over the years and knew that once the initial crisis was over the normal rhythms of life took over. So it was that they arrived, bringing supper, Esmeralda’s knitting bag, Bilbo’s book from his bedside table and some cushions to make their chairs more comfortable. The two carers accepted the gifts thankfully and Esmeralda pecked her husband’s cheek as she and Bilbo prepared themselves for the long nighttime vigil.

At first they sat in silence, other than the click of Esmeralda’s knitting needles, the turning of Bilbo’s pages and Frodo’s occasional fretful murmurs. After a while, however, the silence became too intense and Bilbo finally set aside his book with a sigh. Esmeralda glanced up, thinking that Frodo needed something and put her knitting down but Bilbo waved his hand, shaking his head.

“He’s alright. My brain just refuses to concentrate on the intricacies of Sindarin word order,” he whispered as he reached out to stroke Frodo’s right hand, where it lay still upon the coverlet. His grey eyes studied the small face, peaceful in sleep at last.

“I thought that I had reconciled myself to not having a family.”

Esmeralda smiled. “He does have a way of worming his way into your heart, doesn’t he?” she observed quietly.

Bilbo’s eyes travelled up to meet hers. “Is he happy here, Esmeralda?”

“Happy? He has been happy today and for the past days that you have been here. And there are days when he is happy playing with the other children or just sitting in the window in the library, reading.”

The grey eyes would not release her. “Everyone can get used to a place and I suspect that Frodo has the kind of temperament that will seek to make the best of a situation. We are all happy at some time in each day but is he really happy here?”

Esmeralda leaned forward and stroked Frodo’s soft cheek. “He never says anything, but I think he is very lonely. He feels the loss of his parents very keenly. Those that say children can overcome such trauma more easily than adults are fooling themselves. I think that the only reason he says nothing is that he believes there is no other option open to him.”

She tried to gauge Bilbo’s reaction to her comments and was answered with a single nod. “He may be right, Esmeralda.”

“I hope not, Bilbo. He needs individual attention and a lot of love. As an only child he will have grown used to that.” 

“Primula and Drogo doted upon him you know?” Bilbo answered.

“Who could not?” Esmeralda interjected but whether he had heard her or not Bilbo continued.

“They could not have any more children. I understand that it was a difficult birth.” Bilbo dropped his voice as Frodo stirred. He took the lad’s hand between both of his and the child settled down at once.

“I didn’t know. I returned to Brandy Hall several few weeks after the accident and I didn’t know Frodo’s family very well. I can guess what they were like though and I wish that I had known them better,” Esmeralda noted. “He must have got that sweet disposition from someone.”

Bilbo smiled. “That would be Primula. She had the kindest heart I have ever known. And I think he got his strength from Drogo. That hobbit would stand by what was right, if it was the last thing he did.”

Esmeralda took her courage in both hands. “He needs someone special to share his life. Someone he can call his own.”

“I know. I just wish I knew who,” Bilbo replied with a sigh.

Esmeralda’s eyes were drawn to watch Bilbo’s thumb as it rubbed gently over the back of Frodo’s hand. “How about Bilbo Baggins?” she ventured.

His voice was resigned. “Mad Baggins?” Bilbo shook his head sadly. “Even if I were not a bachelor I would not be considered fitted to raise a young boy.”

“Have you tried asking?” she suggested calmly.

“There’s no point. I know what Rorymac’s answer will be. And to be truthful, I’m not sure that I could look after a child. I’ve never had much to do with them.”

“Neither have I,” Esmeralda observed wryly. She picked up her knitting again. If Bilbo did not want him in his life Frodo would be better off here. At least in Brandy Hall there were many people and he could expect to receive at a little love from Esmeralda, although she had to be careful to ration her attentions between all the fosterlings. If he lived alone, with an uncle that did not really want him around, he would not even get that. Esmeralda started to cast off the shoulder seem on Saradoc’s new sweater.

“Perhaps how good you would be at raising him and whether you would be allowed to raise him, will depend upon how badly you want him. You may have to be willing to fight for Frodo.”

Mad Baggins’ voice was barely more than a whisper. “Would you fight for him?”

Esmeralda remembered Frodo’s face as he ran down the hallway, waving Bilbo’s letter.

“He is drawn to me because I have shown him love where he thought to find none. But some day I will have children of my own and I am married to the heir to Brandy Hall. That will bring additional responsibilities. It would be unfair of me to grow too close to him.” She paused. “But I don’t think it’s really me that he wants. The merry child that you’ve seen these past days isn’t the same one who sits in the library window for hours, watching the river roll by. I think it’s his Uncle Bilbo that Frodo really wants.”

Bilbo’s eyes drifted down to the wan face upon the pillow and Esmeralda watched his features soften. Perhaps there was hope.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

Bilbo stayed at Brandy Hall for a month, only deciding to leave when Frodo was capable of hobbling from bed to a chair with the use of a stick. During that time he and Esmeralda took turns in caring for the young hobbit and Frodo thrived under their close attentions.

Once the pains had subsided it became difficult to keep him in his bed and his elders were hard pressed to keep him entertained. With Bilbo’s skills at story telling and Esmeralda’s ingenuity with word games and puzzles they managed, between them, to keep Frodo still for long enough to allow his young body to heal and most of the arguments about keeping him in his bed were good natured. 

As the day for Bilbo’s departure drew nearer, however, Frodo grew quiet and at times, sullen. Esmeralda could understand why. For the first time since his parent’s deaths he had the undivided attention of two people. With a childlike hope he had wanted it to go on forever and pushed to the back of his mind the knowledge that it could not. As the day dawned, however, he could deny the reality no longer and Esmeralda could see the tears threatening even as he tried to eat his first breakfast.

Frodo sighed and picked up one of the small buttered triangles, taking a desultory bite and putting it back on the plate with an air of finality.

“Come on now, Frodo. Eat up all that toast or your hair won’t curl,” Esmeralda coaxed in her brightest tone. 

“Oh, Auntie Esme. I’m not a baby. I know that eating toast won’t make my hair curl. It’s just something made up to get children to eat it,” Frodo announced with all the sagacity of a thirteen year old. He folded his arms but kept his eyes downcast.

Esmeralda held out his cup of cambric tea. “I’m sorry. I’m used to dealing with younger children than you. I should remember that you are too old now to fall for that one.” She managed to hide a smile. “Will you drink your tea, then? It has lots of milk in it and you know that’s good for you. The doctor said that you must eat lots of cheese and milk puddings and drink lots of milk to help the bone in your arm to knit.”

Frodo accepted the cup and sipped the milky tea slowly and silently. Esmeralda moved about the room, arranging cushions in the big padded arm chair that had been loaned to him, moving the footstool closer and laying his dressing gown at the foot of the bed, along with his walking stick.

It was a much cheerier room than when she had first arrived. A bright coverlet adorned the bed and soft rugs were placed to either side. Fire flickered in the grate and a picture of little smails set into a soft hill hung above the mantel. 

Esmeralda had been appalled at the state of Frodo’s room. During her vigil at his bedside Esmeralda had decided that Brandy Hall’s fosterlings would be better cared for in future. So Saradoc had issued instructions for cellars and glory holes to be searched and now the youngsters’ rooms were bright and comfortable.

Esmeralda timed things so that she arrived back at his bed as Frodo set down his empty cup and noticed that he had also eaten a couple of pieces of the toast. He was obviously enough of a growing hobbit lad that he could not completely ignore the warm golden toast with its liberal dressing of melting yellow butter. Frodo glared at her, daring her to mention it, and his Auntie removed the tray without comment, although she was hard pressed and had to clear her throat to hide a chuckle. 

Esmeralda set the tray on a table outside the door and then returned to help Frodo into his warm dressing gown. He was too sweet natured to be sullen for long and accepted her help to dress, tucking in the sleeve for his left arm which he still wore in a sling, and allowing Esmeralda to lead him to the comfortable arm chair. There she placed his feet upon the stool and tucked a rug about his legs. Although it was summer, being below ground, hobbit smials kept a fairly even temperature and, still a bit weak from the fever and having to lie still a lot, Frodo could feel a little chilled. He smiled as Esmeralda tucked him up and he slipped his hand beneath the warm wool.

“Auntie Esme?” There was no hint of the bad humour of earlier in Frodo’s voice.

Esmeralda sat on the end of his bed and folded her hands in her lap. “Yes?”

“Auntie Esme, do you like Uncle Bilbo?”

Esmeralda frowned a little, trying to work out where this conversation may be leading. “Yes, I like your Uncle Bilbo very much.”

Frodo’s face brightened. “I like him too. I wish he would stay here always.”

“I think he is very fond of his own home. And he has been away from it for some time now,” Esmeralda replied.

“He left Bag End empty for a very long time when he went on his adventure,” the lad pointed out.

Esmeralda smiled. “And returned to find all his possessions being sold.”

Frodo giggled. “Bilbo did have a wonderful adventure, didn’t he?”

“As I remember the tale, your Uncle Bilbo was not too keen to start that particular adventure,” his Aunt reminded him, her lips twitching upward.

“Oh . . . If Gandalf ever came and asked me if I wanted to go on an adventure I’d say, “Yes” in a flash,” Frodo announced firmly.

“I think you have had quite enough adventuring for the moment, young hobbit.” Esmeralda stood. “It’s time for your tonic.”

Frodo grimaced as he watched her pour a measure of the vile liquid into a medicine glass. He complained often that he could not work out what it was supposed to do, for he was not in pain any more and it didn’t make him sleep, like the one they still gave him in the afternoon. Its only purpose seemed to be to taste awful and he hated taking it. His Aunt held out the glass and Frodo accepted it, holding it in his lap as he tried to postpone the inevitable.

“Auntie Esme?”

Esmeralda sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed once more. They played this game every morning. Frodo would try to postpone the tonic for as long as possible and Esmeralda would wait him out patiently until he finally had to accept defeat and swallow it.

“Yes Frodo.”

“I know you’re married to Uncle Saradoc . . .” He paused and Esmeralda merely nodded encouragingly. 

“That’s right, dear.” She tried an initial sortie. “Are you going to take that tonic?”

Frodo glanced down at it and his mouth turned down at the corners. “In a minute, Auntie.” 

She could not blame him. The smell was unpleasant enough but the doctor had said that it would build up the lad’s blood so take it he must. Although he had not lost enough blood to endanger his life he had, none the less, lost a fair bit and needed to replace it.

“I was just wondering . . . If you like Bilbo . . . and I know Bilbo likes you because he told me so yesterday . . . well . . . maybe you could get married to him?” As Esmeralda tried not to laugh the rest of it came out in a rush. “And then you could adopt me and we could all go away to live happily ever after together in Hobbiton.” 

He looked up at her pleadingly and Esmeralda tried to compose her face. It all seemed so logical to a child and a part of her wished that life was that simple. She was also imagining Saradoc’s reaction when she packed her bags.

“Frodo dear, as you so carefully noted, I am already married. Even if I were not, I like a lot of people but I would not marry them. If a marriage is going to be happy there has to be love. I like your Uncle Bilbo and I’m pleased to hear that he likes me, but I don’t love him and I don’t think he loves me.” She smiled. “And I very certainly love your Uncle Saradoc.”

The little face fell and Frodo’s lifted the medicine glass to his lips. Before he sipped he made one last attempt.

“Why don’t you love him? Uncle Bilbo has a lovely big smial and lots of money. Uncle Saradoc could come with us and you could have lots of pretty dresses and some matching combs for your . . . oh!” He looked up in surprise, the medicine forgotten. “I never gave you your present.” His face fell again. “I don’t even know where it is.”

Esmeralda stood and opened his wardrobe, producing the small bag he had been going to hand her when he fell. She laid it in his lap and he smiled up at her, blues eyes the colour of a midsummer sky. To her amazement he swallowed the tonic in two swift gulps, although he grimaced and shuddered and looking about expectantly for the little bit of candied ginger that Esmeralda always kept in her apron pocket to give him to take away the taste. He was not disappointed and sucked it gratefully as his Aunt relieved him of the empty glass.

When she returned he held out the bag triumphantly. “Here is your present Auntie Esme. I’m sorry it’s late but I hope you don’t think it’s a mathom.” He watched excitedly as Esmeralda accepted the bag and peeped inside, his expectant face beaming with delight when he saw her smile and draw out four beautifully carved polished wood hair combs.

Esmeralda leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Frodo, what a lovely present. Thank you.”

Frodo giggled. “Bilbo wanted me to get the ones with butterflies carved on them but I said you would like the ones with the little kittens. I was right, wasn’t I?”

Secretly, Esmeralda would have loved the combs, whatever was carved upon them, simply because he had taken so much care to choose what he considered the perfect present for her.

“Oh yes. I love kittens. How clever of you to know.”

Having got her in a good mood Frodo made one last sally. “Uncle Bilbo has pots of money . . . he could buy you lots of combs if . . .”

He was cut off by Esmeralda’s gentle laughter. “No . . . I will not leave Saradoc and marry Bilbo Baggins. The very idea! And anyway, you little scamp, why would I want to adopt a lad that hasn’t the sense to know that hobbits have no business climbing?”

Esmeralda was pleased to hear Frodo’s delighted giggle join her own laughter.

Any further attempt to pursue the conversation was forestalled by the entry of Saradoc. He had been keeping a close eye on events, even though Bilbo and Esmeralda had done most of the caring. Esmeralda knew he had missed her presence in their home but he had made no complaint and had dealt with much of the matters that required attention behind the scenes in the lad’s care. It was Saradoc who ensured that Frodo had a comfortable chair and he who carved the small walking stick. Esmeralda and Bilbo had been at great pains to make sure Frodo was aware of these attentions and so it was that the lad now smiled brightly at his uncle.

Saradoc glanced at his wife. “Is he ready?”

Frodo’s face creased into a small, confused frown and he too glanced at his aunt in query.

“Yes. He’s had his first breakfast and taken his tonic and I was just waiting for you to arrive.” Esmeralda bent to remove the rug and Saradoc helped Frodo to stand as Esmeralda draped the rug around the lad’s shoulders.

“What’s happening?” Frodo squeaked in surprise as Saradoc swept him into his sturdy arms and Esmeralda tucked the rug more closely.

“It’s time you got some sunshine and fresh air so we’ve set up a nice comfy chair for you under a tree in the garden,” Esmeralda replied as she led the way through the door.

“We thought you’d like to say goodbye to Bilbo there and you can wave to him as he goes down the lane,” Saradoc added.

Frodo stiffened at once and tried to push himself away from his Uncle’s chest. “No. Don’t want to. Take me back.”

Saradoc halted in consternation, although he held firmly to the weakly squirming bundle in his arms. “Don’t you like the sunshine?”

For the first time that she could remember, Esmeralda saw Frodo pout. The bright blue eyes looked down, refusing to meet his Uncle’s gaze. 

“Yes,” he answered hesitantly, but as soon as Saradoc took another step down the hall he began to squirm again and his Uncle stopped, glancing perplexedly at Esmeralda. 

She guessed the problem at once. “Bilbo has stayed a whole month, Frodo. He has a home to take care of and business to attend to. And he has promised to return for Yule.”

The bluebell eyes caught and held his Auntie’s and she could see the tears beginning to gather again. “Why can’t Bilbo live here?” he whispered forlornly.

Esmeralda sighed. “His home is in Hobbiton. I understand that Bag End is a very grand place. I don’t think it would be fair to ask him to give that up to come and live in a couple of rooms at Brandy Hall. Besides, it gives you somewhere to visit. He’s promised to fetch you for a long holiday with him next summer, remember?”

Saradoc took an experimental step and then another as Frodo ceased his struggles. “It will be Yule before you know it, lad,” he assured him.

Frodo blinked as they came out into the autumn sunshine. Even though this was one of the last bright days before autumn proper set in it was still a little chill and they had found him a sheltered spot to sit. Saradoc lowered him gently into the cushioned chair that had been placed ready and Esmeralda immediately wrapped the invalid in several layers of blankets, laying a pillow and hot water bottle beneath his feet and another hot water bottle in his lap. Bilbo arrived as she was finishing and she and Saradoc stepped away a little distance to give them some privacy for their goodbyes.

Esmeralda made a point of not eavesdropping, but when she saw Bilbo bend down to give Frodo a gentle hug and then turn away for his pony she stepped back to the lad’s side at once, gently rubbing his shoulder and offering a hanky as the tears finally fell.

Once mounted upon his sturdy animal Bilbo Baggins turned back to wave at them and for a moment, Esmeralda was afraid that Frodo would not wave back, but after only a slight hesitation the uninjured right arm rose to wave vigorously. After all, it would not be too long before Yule was upon them.


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The days between Bilbo’s departure and Yule were difficult times for those caring for Frodo. The splints were removed after a few days but it had been a bad break and Frodo was confined to wearing a sling for another couple of weeks. Not only did he not like the frustration caused by the slow return of strength to his arm but his emotions swung from mournful lows, when they could do nothing right for him, to ecstatic highs when he contemplated his Uncle Bilbo’s return. 

For their part, Esmeralda and Saradoc were very patient and tried to ensure that they filled the gap left by Bilbo as well as they could. After a few awkward rebellions Frodo accepted the situation with the calm silence that he had before and Esmeralda wept to see it.

As Yule drew closer Frodo brightened again and his body began to heal more swiftly. By the time Bilbo arrived, one rainy morning, Frodo was well enough to run out and throw himself into his uncle’s arms and Bilbo had no need to hold back on the strength of his hug in fear of hurting the lad.

Presents were not expected at Yule, although most youngsters received some small gift to celebrate the turning of the year, if only to keep them occupied while the grownups chatted in the calm after the feast. Bilbo was no exception, bringing Frodo a beautiful wooden jigsaw puzzle, depicting a large rambling house set in a steep sided, heavily wooded valley. It was clearly not the type of property owned by a hobbit and Esmeralda wondered if it was somewhere Bilbo had seen in his travels. It looked very peaceful.

When the feasting was done Brandy Hall settled into relative quiet as the children played in one of the dining halls cleared for the occasion and older denizens retired to their rooms for a quiet nap. The rest of the adults sat around in small groups chatting or smoking. Esmeralda did not smoke, nor was she much of a one for gossip, so she made for the sanctuary of the little suite of rooms she shared with Saradoc and sat by the fire with a book of poetry.

She looked up in surprise when someone knocked at the door. “Come in,” she called as she set aside the book.

“A merry Yule to you, Esmeralda.”

“And to you, Bilbo. What brings you here? You’ll find Frodo with some of the other lads in the big hall, trying to put together that puzzle you brought him. And Saradoc is checking on the lambs.”

“I didn’t come looking for Frodo or Saradoc.” Bilbo hesitated, as if unsure how to proceed. “I was wondering if I could have a word with you, actually.”

Esmeralda waved Bilbo to the seat usually occupied by her husband and the older hobbit settled himself comfortably. There was an awkward silence while he stared into the fire, then he looked across at her. “How has Frodo been while I’ve been at home?”

“He’s missed his uncle very much. But I suspect you already knew that.”

“He misses the closeness of family.” Suddenly realising what he had said, Bilbo tried to apologise. “I don’t mean that you and Saradoc haven’t been family to him. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful for the care you give him.”

Esmeralda smiled, waving aside his words. “I’m not offended, Bilbo. Saradoc and I have many responsibilities. I am very sadly aware that Frodo does not get the attention he really needs from us. He does need family.” She looked at the elder Baggins pointedly.

Bilbo met her gaze squarely. “I have taken that in hand.”

“How?” Hope blossomed. “Have you decided to adopt Frodo?”

Bilbo hurriedly put his finger to his lips, glancing behind them at the door. “It is early days yet. I spoke to Rorymac and Saradoc some time ago, but I didn’t want to get Frodo’s hopes up if there were no chance.”

“Well, now. Isn’t that just typical? The lads have their secret little agreements but never consider telling the lasses. And when did all this happen?”

“I did ask Saradoc if you could be present at today’s meeting at least. He said you were busy with the Yule celebrations.”

“Did he, indeed? I think I shall be having words with my husband later.”

Bilbo ignored that comment, obviously deciding to let the couple sort that one out on their own. “I should have done it as soon as Drogo and Primula died, but I suppose I was too selfish. I have grown very fond of the bachelor life.”

“Selfish? Bilbo, I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone as unselfish as you. You were frightened, perhaps. Looking after a child when you have no experience is daunting. Believe me, I know. But if you look at it another way . . . everyone faces that prospect with their first child.” She patted her stomach and Bilbo’s eyes grew round.

“You and Saradoc?”

“Please don’t sound so surprised,” Esmeralda chuckled. “We haven’t been idle in the matter.”

Bilbo guffawed. “I bet you haven’t. When is the bairn due?”

“About five months.” 

“Congratulations”

“Thank you. But I interrupted. What did Rorymac say about Frodo?”

He sobered. “Rorymac made a stipulation. There are many people in the Baggins side of the family that would be equally well suited to adopt Frodo, in fact some more so in that they are married. Rorymac is adamant that if the lad is to leave Brandybuck care he should be given the opportunity to be settled with a family.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it’s not time Rory retired. I hope you will forgive me for saying this, Bilbo. But I can’t think of any of the lad’s married Baggins relatives that would be more suitable than you.”

Her comment elicited a rueful smile. “We Baggins’ are an odd bunch, I grant you. But when Rorymac wrote to them all, telling them of my offer, one couple replied.”

Esmeralda could not hide the surprise in her voice. “Who?” She was even more surprised at his answer.

“Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins.”

“What? They can’t be serious! Why ever would they be interested in adopting Frodo? Which is not to say anything against the lad.”

“Bag End,” Bilbo replied, simply.

“I should have known it would come down to money where those two are concerned,” Esmeralda sniffed. 

She had never met the Sackville-Baggins’ but had made a point of trying to find out as much as she could of Frodo’s relatives. And everything she had heard of Otho and Lobelia seemed to revolve about the getting of wealth.

“I’m sorry if I sound a little dense, Bilbo, but I don’t see how adopting Frodo will get them Bag End.”

Bilbo sighed and settled himself more comfortably in his chair.

“When my parents died there was some question about the validity of the will. I won’t go into the details . . . to be honest I don’t quite understand it myself . . . but suffice it to say that there were several years of legal wrangling which eventually resulted in my inheriting Bag End. There was a proviso, however. If I die without issue the property will pass to the Sackville-Baggins.”

Esmeralda’s heart sank as she began to realise the implications of this and the depths to which Otho and Lobelia would stoop to get their hands upon money. Bilbo continued.

“I am getting on in years, Esmeralda. I may not look it but I am quite old. I have no intention of marrying now and even if I did meet the right lass it is unlikely that I would father any children. Lobelia has been perched at my graveside for several years, waiting to cast the first clod. If I adopt Frodo he will be treated as my issue in the eyes of the law and Bag End will slip through her fingers again. Lobelia has lost it twice already so she is growing somewhat determined.”

The callousness of Otho and Lobelia’s thinking made Esmeralda feel physically sick. She could not imagine anyone could be so heartless as to make a child miserable, just to prevent him from inheriting a smial. She had to swallow hard before she trusted herself to speak.

“Surely Rorymac will not allow this?”

Bilbo sighed. “If it were his decision alone I’m sure that he would not. But because Frodo is not in a direct line of descent and I do not reside in Buckland the matter has been passed to the Magistrates. And on the face of it the Sackville-Baggins are better placed to offer Frodo a stable family environment. The matter may take years to settle, and in the meantime I’m not getting any younger.”

His gaze returned to the glow of the fire where a log settled in a shower of sparks. 

“Will you give up, then?” Esmeralda’s voice was barely more than a whisper. But Bilbo’s reply was vehement. 

“No. Definitely not. I’ll not subject that lad to the tender mercies of Lobelia Sackville-Baggins but I don’t think Brandy Hall is the right place for him either. Especially with your news. And I’d turn Bag End over to a set of badgers before I handed it over to the Sackville-Baggins’.” He paused. “You know, it’s strange. I wasn’t sure whether I really wanted to adopt Frodo until this happened. Now I realise that I love that lad too much to see him smothered by Lobelia.”

Esmeralda smiled. “You know, Frodo once asked me if I would marry you so that we could adopt him?”

Bilbo threw his head back with a loud hoot. “And what did you tell him?”

Esmeralda did not laugh. “I told him that I could not because I did not love you. He was desperate, Bilbo. I cannot give him the love here that he needs so dearly.” Her green eyes finally met his. “Fight for him, Bilbo. He is worth the effort.” 

“I will, Esmeralda. And thank you.”

“What for?”

“For opening a crusty old bachelor’s eyes.”

“I only opened them to show you what was already in your heart, Bilbo.”


	9. Chapter 9

Esmeralda looked up from her sewing at a timid knock on her door. It was far too light to be an adult, but what youngster would be up at this hour of the night? It was nearly midnight and the only reason Esmeralda herself was still awake was because she wanted this dress finished in time to wear for Merry’s birthday party tomorrow. It would be too, if she could just get the hem turned and pressed.

The knock came again and Esmeralda secured her needle and draped the dress over the back of her chair before going to the door. She was surprised to find Frodo standing in the hallway. He had on only his nightshirt and dressing gown, his hair was tousled and his face was feverishly pink and tracked with tears. His arms were wrapped around his chest, shoulders hunched.

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Esmeralda beckoned him in at once. “Frodo. Whatever is the matter?” At age eighteen Frodo was almost as tall as she but he looked younger an smaller tonight.

Leading him to the chair by the fire, Esmeralda eased him back into the cushions but no sooner had his body touched them than he hissed and pulled forward again, tears springing to his eyes. Esmeralda bent to him at once, cupping his cheek in her hand.

“What is it, Frodo? Are you hurt?”

Frodo pleaded, his voice and wildly gesticulating hands taking on an edge of panic. “Please don’t tell Uncle Saradoc. I’ve learned my lesson. Truly I have!”

Esmeralda caught his frantically waving hands, raising her voice just enough to carry over his. “Calm down Frodo and tell your Auntie Esme what the problem is. You know I’ll try to help if I can.” As he settled a little she tried to comb his hair into some semblance of order with her fingers and he leaned into her touch, tears shimmering in his eyes. 

Continuing to try to calm him, Esmeralda held his hand and waited. “What ever has you so upset?” 

He shook his head. Esmeralda gave up the vain attempt at ordering his locks and pulled out her handkerchief to dab at his eyes before handing it over. “Blow your nose and tell me what it is. There’s nothing that we can’t sort out between us.” 

Frodo gave one final sniffle and began to speak . . . his voice almost too low to hear and his eyes fixed on his fingers where they wrung the handkerchief in his lap.

“You know how I love mushrooms?” He did not wait for an answer but moved straight on, trying to get the story out before his strength of will failed him.

“Well, Farmer Maggot grows the best mushrooms around here. All the lads duck into his fields and steal a few every now and again. It’s a bit of a game to see if we can get the mushrooms and outrun his dogs . . . he keeps some fearful dogs, Auntie Esme.”

His Aunt nodded. She had heard many a tale about Farmer Maggot’s dogs . . . most of them wildly exaggerated and, she suspected, started by the farmer himself in the hopes of frightening off people before they got to even meet the animals. She could hardly blame him for Bamfurlong farm was right on the borders of the Shire proper and easily accessible for anyone coming off the old East/West Road along the Causeway or on the ferry. 

Esmeralda had occasion to meet both farmer and dogs and knew that he was a kind enough soul and his dogs well trained not to bite . . . but she did not intend to let the youngsters know that if the threat kept them out of trouble. With most it did . . . but Frodo and one or two others had an adventurous streak.

Frodo took a shuddering breath and continued. “I went out for a walk this afternoon and took the ferry across. I didn’t set out with the intention of stealing mushrooms but by the time I was coming back I was hungry and I knew I would be too late for tea. I’ve outrun his dogs many a time so I decided to risk it.” 

The big blue eyes peeped up at her from beneath long dark lashes, sparkling with tears and Esmeralda set herself not to melt, only returning his gaze steadily. Frodo swallowed and his voice grew even quieter.

“Farmer Maggot must have been very close by because before I knew it he had hold of my arm. He’s nearly caught me several times before so he knew it wasn’t my first offence. He took a switch to my back, then he showed me to his dogs and said, “See lads, next time this young varmint sets foot on my land, you can eat him. Now see him off!”” Frodo swallowed hard. “They chased me all the way to the Ferry. I was so frightened.”

“I see.” Esmeralda considered being stern with him but he looked so pitiful and it seemed he had most definitely learned his lesson. There was little reason in emphasising a point already firmly made. She knew that Saradoc would not be so forgiving however, and Frodo could well receive further punishment. Whilst Saradoc was not one to use corporal punishment, with his growing adventurous streak Frodo had been sent to muck out the cowsheds on more than one occasion in recent years.

“And this was at teatime?” Esmeralda asked as she began to unfasten his dressing gown. He grimaced when she helped him out of it but blushed furiously and clutched at the neck of his nightshirt as she started to undo the buttons there. Esmeralda smiled.

“Frodo . . . you are obviously still in a lot of pain and have come for my help to ease it. I can’t help you if I can’t see your back. I nursed you when you were sick before, remember.”

Frodo looked about then leaned in to whisper, “Where is Uncle Saradoc?”

Esmeralda nodded toward the closed bedroom door. “Don’t worry. It would take an army of drummers to wake him. He and Rorymac shared a bottle of Old Winyards earlier.”

Frodo let go the death grip on the neck of his shirt and Esmeralda calmly unfastened it and eased it off his shoulders and arms to pool about his waist. She moved the lamp on the table at his side a little and turned him sideways so that she could survey the damage.

Although Esmeralda did not approve of such punishments she noted that Farmer Maggot had been stern but not vicious. The skin was not broken but there was a fair amount of light bruising and a couple of red welts that clearly showed that he had used a birch or hazel switch. Esmeralda imagined that they would smart rather fiercely and had probably prevented Frodo from sleeping.

“There’s no bleeding but it’s going to be a lovely range of colours when the bruising comes out properly. You’d best make sure no-one sees you without your shirt for a few weeks. It’s going to be stiff and sore for a while and you’re going to have to pretend it isn’t if you don’t want people to find out. Are you sure you can do that? It’s not long to harvest and you’re expected to help.”

Frodo nodded vehemently. “Please, Auntie Esme. I can do it . . . but please don’t tell anyone,” he pleaded again. He began to pull up his nightshirt and Esmeralda stopped him.

“No lad. I’ve got some salve that will take the sting out of it.”

He stilled again and Esmeralda pushed the kettle over the fire to boil while she fetched a small pot from the chest under the window. She opened it and Frodo recognised at once the familiar smell of calendula and something else that he could not place. Esmeralda began to spread it upon his back and Frodo sighed in relief as it began to work immediately to soothe and cool the stinging pain. When she had finished Esmeralda eased him back into nightshirt and dressing gown and pushed him gently back into the cushions before turning to make tea. Frodo closed his eyes, revelling in the easement of his pain and happy to remain where he was put for the time being. 

“Come on now. Drink this down. It will help.” Esmeralda offered him a cup of hot tea, redolent with chamomile and honey and the lad accepted it gratefully, sipping it slowly until it was drained. By the time he had finished it Esmeralda could see that the tea, combined with the late hour were making Frodo very drowsy and she helped him to his feet and walked him back down the empty hallways.

He was almost stumbling by the time he reached his room and only vaguely aware as his Aunt helped him out of his dressing gown and tucked him into his bed, where he promptly curled up on his side and let his eyelids slide shut.

Esmeralda perched on the edge of the bed, watching him slip into a deep sleep.

He had changed. He was still a quiet lad who loved to read or write but he had also developed a sense of mischievous fun as he settled into life at Brandy Hall. The birth of Meriadoc had helped there. He became a younger brother to Frodo, following him about like a shadow. But Frodo only truly blossomed when Bilbo was around. 

Although he was a happy lad and had made many friends with his winning smile and little kindness’, he still missed belonging to someone. Esmeralda hoped with every passing day that Bilbo would be that someone. She blew out the candle at his bedside and slipped from the room silently. 

Halfway down the hall she met her sleep fogged husband coming towards her. “I heard you talking to someone. Is everything alright?”

“Never you mind,” Esmeralda instructed as she turned him about. “It’s sorted,” she added with a finality that brooked no further query.


	10. Chapter 10

It was the best kind of summer day. From her place beneath the sycamore tree Esmeralda could hear the shrieks of laughter and loud splashing of children playing in the shallows at a bend in the river. In the branches above her a gaggle of sparrows was fighting over crumbs snatched up cheekily from the remains of several picnic cloths spread out on the bright green grass and away in the distance a cow was lowing.

Esmeralda sighed contentedly as her body went about the daunting task of digesting the large quantity of food she had just consumed and around her she could hear the drowsy sounds of other adults as they wound down to an afternoon nap, safe in the knowledge that today it was someone else’s turn to watch the young ones. Their voices blended with the drone of bees collecting nectar from the clover in the meadow grass.

The sun shone warmly, even through the filter of leaves above her and Esmeralda turned her face towards it, like a flower. There was not a cloud to be seen in the bluest of skies, so the sudden shadow that fell across her face made Esmeralda’s eyes fly open in alarm. She sat up, shielding her eyes as she tried to make out the features of the hobbit standing above her.

“Good afternoon, Esmeralda. Saradoc said that I would find you out here.” Bilbo Baggins chuckled as he glanced around at the somnolent figures strewn about the grass. “Although I suppose I could have worked that out for myself. It seems most of Brandy Hall has decided to picnic this afternoon. May I sit down?”

Esmeralda smiled and drew aside her skirts to allow him room on the rug. “Certainly. Although I think you’ll find Frodo with the other youngsters, down by the river.”

The older hobbit settled upon the rug and leaned back against the tree. It had taken several patient years to get Frodo anywhere near the river but now he swam like a fish. “Actually, he’s gone indoors.”

“Oh. That’s not like him. Then he’s probably gone to the library. Would you like some cider?” She surveyed the meagre pickings in her basket. “And I believe there’s some seedcake left here somewhere.” 

“No thank you, Esmeralda. I’ve just had an excellent tea with Rorymac.” 

Esmeralda looked across at him curiously. In ten years she noticed he had started to show a good sprinkling of grey hair amongst the brown and his girth had expanded a little. But other than that Bilbo Baggins did not seem to her to be one tock older than he had been at that fateful birthday party where they had first met.

If he noticed her scrutiny, Bilbo chose to let it pass without comment . . . almost as though he was used to such assessments.

“I’ve done it, Esme.”

“Done what?” she replied, still a little sun drowsed.

“I have the documents for Frodo’s adoption ready to sign in Rorymac’s study.”

Esmeralda was suddenly wide-awake. “Have you told Frodo?”

“He knew matters were coming to a head but Rorymac wants a word with him on his own first, to make sure that this is what the lad wants. If it is I have only to sign the papers and I have come to ask if you and Saradoc will be the principle witnesses.”

Hard pressed to hold back her tears of joy, Esmeralda sat up straight. “Oh Bilbo, I would love to. You will make Frodo so happy. But however did you win over the Sackville-Baggins’?”

Bilbo’s face gave no clue to his reply. “It wasn’t easy. I had to agree to Lobelia and Otho becoming Frodo’s guardians in the event of my death before the lad comes of age.”

Esmeralda studied the ageless face again. She did not know precisely how old Bilbo was but she knew that he was much older than he looked. He had already lived longer than many hobbits and if he died before Frodo reached his majority Bag End would effectively belong to the Sackville-Baggins. Esmeralda was in no doubt that should tht happen there would be little left of Bilbo’s property for Frodo to inherit on his thirty-third birthday.

A small smile began to dance about Bilbo’s lips, however, and Esmeralda’s heart lifted. The calendar may say that Bilbo Baggins was old but there was no sign of the advancing years in the hale hobbit that relaxed at Esmeralda’s side. Having closed his eyes against the sun’s brilliance Bilbo opened one to look at her and continued quietly.

“Of course, I have no intention of allowing them to take advantage of that clause. I think Lobelia will be a little upset when she sees me next. I am very much recovered from that awful cold that I had last time we met.” He coughed dramatically, thumping his chest. “I’m afraid I was not at my best when she came to sign the documents and I had taken to my bed.”

Esmeralda’s face broke into a spontaneous grin. “Why Bilbo Baggins! You old fraud!”

Bilbo opened both eyes wide in mock horror. “Who me? But now that you mention it I did make a very quick recovery. It must be my constitution. Of course, if you want to complete my return to health you could come and witness my signature on that document. Shall we go? I think Rorymac and Frodo will be ready for us by now.” He stood in one fluid movement and offered Esmeralda a hand up.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of your return to complete health, Bilbo. And it would be my pleasure to see Frodo settled.”

The dark wood panelling in Rorymac’s study made it feel permanently dark, despite having two large round windows set in its outer wall. Esmeralda had been here rarely as she and Rorymac had never quite seemed to hit it off. It was her husband who had ushered them in and he stood in silent support behind her now.

Frodo looked rather nervous as he perched on the edge of one of the large overstuffed chairs. His feet only just touching the floor were testament to the fact that he still had a little growing to do and he jumped up as soon as his elders entered. Bilbo moved forward to squeeze his shoulder lightly as Frodo smiled up at him, tears gathering in the blue depths of his large eyes.

Rorymac looked up from beneath heavy brows, his impressive girth compressed tightly between chair and desk, and waved Bilbo and Esmeralda to the two chairs set before him. Saradoc came to stand behind his wife, one hand resting lightly upon her shoulder, and Bilbo settled in the one recently vacated by Frodo. The younger hobbit flashed a hesitant smile at Esmeralda, moving to stand at Bilbo’s side, and Esmeralda settled more comfortably in her own chair as Bilbo reached his arm about Frodo’s waist. The lad leaned in towards him trustingly.

All looked expectantly at Rorymac, who made the most of the attention by taking time to shuffle the large legal documents before him before addressing them in his most formal voice.

“I have spoken to Frodo to ensure that he knows exactly what we are about to sign, Bilbo, and what it will mean to him. He assures me that he not only understands but is very happy at the prospect.”

Frodo broke into a genuine smile, his cheeks high and pink, dashing away a tear with his hand and sniffling lightly. Esmeralda fished about in her pocket and handed over a clean hanky. She had never been able to persuade him to carry one of his own. His smile broadened to a grin as he accepted it and wiped his nose.

Rorymac cleared his throat and Esmeralda looked back to find his steady hazel gaze upon her. “There is no legal obligation for you to be made aware of the content of this document but I understand that Bilbo has advised you. Are you willing to serve as witnesses to Bilbo’s signature, Esmeralda and Saradoc Brandybuck?”

She returned his gaze levelly. “I am more than willing, Rorymac.” A hobbit of few words, Saradoc merely nodded.

The Master of Brandy Hall lifted a quill and paused for a moment. “Before I append my signature and seal I would like to say that this is one of the most pleasant and long awaited services I have ever had to perform. As you all know, I had my doubts about Bilbo’s fitness to look after a child and in that, perhaps, the wait has been to his advantage, for Frodo is now a tweenager. But over the years it has been my pleasure to watch the familial love grow between the two of you until I could not imagine the consequences of keeping you apart any longer.”

All were now smiling broadly as he dipped the quill in a large pot of red ink and signed his name with a flourish, blotting it, turning the document around and offering the pen to Bilbo. The Master of Bag End added his own chicken scratch signature and Rorymac blotted that. All now turned to Esmeralda and, dipping the pen in the inkpot once more, Rorymac held it out for her.

Rory cleared his throat. “Esmeralda Brandybuck, I will ask you now to verify that you have witnessed Bilbo Baggins sign this document.”

Esmeralda stood, straightened her skirts and reached for the pen and Saradoc came to stand proudly at her side. Rorymac pointed to the relevant space and Esmeralda signed her name. She had been worried that she would shake and splatter ink on the page but now it came to it her hand was firm and sure. She could not remember ever having been so sure of the rightness of an action in her life and when she turned back to her seat, Saradoc leaned down without hesitation to add his name to hers. 

After that there was five minutes of relative chaos as four residents were accosted in the hallway to append their signatures. That they had not actually witnessed Bilbo sign the document seemed irrelevant to the Master, who had always been able to slip from formal to informal in mid breath. However getting those residents to depart took several more minutes as they all insisted upon shaking Bilbo and Frodo’s hands, offering their congratulations and looking around pointedly for victuals or at least a glass of wine. It was only Saradoc’s determined shepherding that cleared the room at last.

Once peace had been restored Rorymac turned the document back to face him and dipped a tiny spoon into the dish of red wax melting over a candle on his desk. Spreading the wax in a large blob he then quickly breathed upon the large official seal of the Master of Brandy Hall and stamped it firmly. All sighed in relief and Rorymac looked across and smiled for the first time, once again the head of the family, rather than the Master of Brandy Hall.

“Frodo, you are now the adopted heir of Bilbo Baggins.”

The young hobbit could contain himself no longer. Tweenager or no, his joy must find expression and he threw himself at his Uncle, wrapping his arms about the older hobbit’s neck in a fierce hug. Bilbo returned the hug warmly, laughing even though the tears were rolling down his face.

“Frodo my lad.”


	11. Chapter 11

The next day dawned as warm and sunny as the previous one and found a small group of hobbits gathered around a pony and cart in Brandy Hall’s cobbled entranceway.

Frodo stood to one side of the door, chattering excitedly with a gaggle of youngsters, while Bilbo lifted bags and boxes into the cart. Most of the luggage seemed to belong to the older hobbit. Frodo’s consisted of one bag of clothing and a large box of books. The lad was busy dividing his other books amongst his friends, who were accepting them with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Esmeralda suspected that some of the books would become mathoms but it was the giving that was important, and she was pleased to see him surrounded by so many friends, a sharp contrast to the lonely child of ten years ago.

“Frodo!” A small figure flew out of the great doors and Frodo knelt down, arms wide. Meriadoc threw himself into the tweenager’s arms, knocking Frodo over in the process so that they both ended up rolling in a giggling heap on the cobbles. Meriadoc had become like a brother to Frodo and it was his birth, as much as anything, which had drawn the lad out at last.

Esmeralda divided her attention between watching her little son get very dusty and grinning as she noted one or two of Brandy Hall’s matriarchs pushing advice upon Bilbo about the care and feeding of a tweenager. She had to admire his patience as he nodded in the right places whilst concentrating upon loading the cart and keeping one eye upon his new heir.

At some point she must have taken her attention off the youngsters for someone touched her arm and Esmeralda glanced across to find herself lost once more in those deep blue eyes. Frodo had grown over the past few years, until he now reached her shoulder but she suspected that he had a few more inches of growing yet to do for he had not yet filled out into a proper hobbit roundness. It was obvious that his body was still using its energy to grow upwards.

Frodo pressed something into her hand and Esmeralda looked down in surprise, expecting to see a tattered book. Instead, she found a carefully wrapped package, tied with a green satin ribbon. Esmeralda smiled delightedly and handed over a similarly shaped package, although more simply wrapped.

Both said, “Thank you,” at the same time and broke into giggles as they unwrapped their presents. The giggles turned to gales of laughter when the contents were revealed.

Frodo tore open the paper to reveal a box of fine white linen hankies with the initial, “F” lovingly embroidered on each. Esmeralda opened her parcel with more care, slipping the green ribbon into her apron pocket. She also revealed a box of soft linen hankies, this time trimmed with fine lace and far too fine to actually blow a nose on.

“I wanted to replace all the hankies you have lent me over the years,” Frodo laughed.

“And I wanted to make sure that you had enough hankies around when I wasn’t there to keep you supplied,” his Auntie replied through her own laughter.

Frodo drew his Auntie Esme into a tight hug, now able to wrap his arms completely around her, instead of having to clutch at the waist of her apron. When they parted she bent to scoop up Merry and followed him to the cart where Frodo endowed them with one final hug before climbing up next to his Uncle Bilbo. As the cart rumbled out of the gate Esmeralda felt as though a part of her heart was being torn away and she called out . . . 

“Take care of each other.”

Frodo turned to look over his shoulder. The bluebell eyes captured hers again and he waved. “We will, Auntie Esme. And I’ll come back and visit, I promise.”

Frodo kept his word, visiting often as Merry grew up. And for as long as he lived in the Shire, every year upon Frodo’s birthday, Esmeralda Brandybuck received a box of six delicate hankies.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.


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